Usually I am spoilt for choice and I have to check that I haven’t written about the subject before. However the 29th of January offers me only two topics in the pre-1600 category. Sergios III came out of retirement to be elected pope from the deposed antipope Christopher in 904 CE, or Caliph al-Mustafki was blinded and deposed by Mu’izz al Dawla, ruler of the Buyid empire in 946 CE. I shall choose Antipope Christopher. I have written about two popes so far, Pope Urban II and Pope Pius IX, and I am intrigued by an antipope.
Antipope Christopher is one of the most obscure and enigmatic figures in the long and often turbulent history of the medieval papacy. Active for only a brief period at the start of the tenth century, Christopher’s claim to the papal throne sits at the murky intersection of violence, factional politics, and later ecclesiastical embarrassment. Even his very status as an antipope rather than a legitimate pope has been the subject of debate among historians, reflecting the confused and partisan sources of the era.
Christopher emerged during what later historians have called the saeculum obscurum (“the dark age”) of the papacy, a period roughly spanning the late ninth and early tenth centuries. Rome at this time was dominated by powerful aristocratic families, and the papacy was less a purely spiritual office than a prize to be seized and defended through force. Papal elections were frequently manipulated, and popes were often deposed, imprisoned, or killed by rival factions.
The exact origins of Christopher are unclear, but he was probably a Roman cleric, possibly a cardinal-priest, with connections to one of the city’s dominant political factions. Around 903 or 904 CE, he rose against the reigning Pope Leo V. Contemporary and near-contemporary sources suggest that Christopher either led or benefited from a violent coup that resulted in Leo V being imprisoned. Christopher then assumed the papal office himself, taking control of Rome and being recognized, at least locally, as bishop of Rome.
It is at this point that Christopher’s status becomes controversial. Some early papal lists included him as a legitimate pope, numbering him among the successors of St Peter. Others, particularly later medieval chroniclers, labeled him an antipope, arguing that his accession was illegitimate because it was achieved by force and without proper canonical election. The ambiguity is heightened by the fact that many popes of the era came to power through similarly questionable means, making it difficult to apply consistent standards retroactively.
Christopher’s reign was extremely short, probably lasting only a few months in 904. His rule ended when a rival faction in Rome gained the upper hand, led by supporters of Sergius III, a formidable and ambitious cleric who had himself previously claimed the papacy unsuccessfully. Sergius returned to Rome with armed backing, overthrew Christopher, and had him imprisoned. Pope Leo V, who had already been imprisoned by Christopher, remained in captivity at this time.
What happened next reflects the brutal realities of tenth-century Roman politics. Both Christopher and Leo V disappeared from the historical record shortly after Sergius III’s victory. Most sources agree that they were killed, probably strangled or otherwise murdered in prison, although exact details are lacking. Sergius III then assumed the papacy and ruled from 904 to 911, inaugurating a period in which the papacy fell heavily under the influence of the powerful Theophylact family.
The condemnation of Christopher as an antipope appears to have been solidified after Sergius III took power. Later chroniclers hostile to Sergius accused him of having Leo V murdered, and by extension portrayed Christopher as a violent usurper whose reign was an aberration. Declaring Christopher an antipope conveniently delegitimized his acts and reinforced Sergius’s claim to lawful authority. Over time, this judgment hardened into tradition, and Christopher was excluded from official papal lists.
Modern historians tend to view Christopher less as a uniquely villainous figure and more as a symptom of his age. His brief rule illustrates how fragile papal authority had become and how completely it was entangled with Roman aristocratic power struggles. The distinction between pope and antipope in this period often depended less on canonical niceties than on who ultimately prevailed by force and secured later recognition.
Antipope Christopher left no known theological legacy, reforms, or ecclesiastical writings. His importance lies instead in what his rise and fall reveal about the papacy’s nadir in the early Middle Ages. He stands as a stark reminder that the office of pope, later invested with immense moral and spiritual authority, once survived through periods of chaos, coercion, and bloodshed. Christopher’s shadowy career underscores how contingent papal legitimacy could be—and how history itself can be shaped by the victors who decide which names are remembered and which are cast aside.